Hackers RevengeBeginning
by Thomas Kelley
Summary: A cat-and mouse Internet story which follows the Falconi crime family into the new world of high-tech intrigue with ex-FBI agent and iGONE Industries president on a war-path to stop the crime gang before they hit their biggest jackpot: The Emperor Casino.


**CHAPTER ONE**

_**WELCOME TO WHITEFISH**_

This annoying East Coast accented male voice was heard ahead of Parker as he exited the Shoreline restaurant. This tone aggravated the tranquility of the Whitefish Lodge that nestled against its namesake cobalt blue lake. The pitches of this sound became increasing louder.

Parker passed a matching set of leather back chairs paired with a wooden circular reading table. The male inflection was bouncing off the vaulted beam ceiling. The Grand Foyer held four antler chandeliers hanging thirty feet above.

An echo was heard inside the fire-crackling six foot wide granite fireplace that neared the hotel lobby. Parker strolled through the main hall to reach the Lobby at Whitefish Lodge. He could not help but stare.

What he saw was a screaming hotel guest making gestures at a lone desk clerk. Immediately the Mangers Office door opened. A professionally dressed early thirties Hispanic female Manager approached the irate customer from behind the registration counter.

Parker stood at the corner watching. Anyone in the general radius would have overheard this patron complaining about the mini-bar charges. The smiling Manager exhausted from this non-ending barrage attempted to quiet this customer by saying, "Mr. Levi…give me a moment to correct you account."

The Manager agreed to remove the charges. She hoped to cease the guest from his spectacle. This guest ruined her peaceful mid-morning shift at the Lodge. She knew the owners would back her decision to keep this particular customer content. It was one of the reasons the Lodge had the highest star rating in Northern Montana.

Having moved the clerk aside, the female Manager used the agent's computer to make adjustments on the folio. She then re-printed the guest account. Meantime, the still smoldering salt-and-peppered hair colored customer demanded, and reached for his credit card slip.

"Mr. Levi, give me one moment to fix this," the Manager said abruptly. Her patience was wearing thin. Her smile had vanished.

The guest turned around to see Parker holding his defined forearms across his developed chest leaning against the Lobby's corner wall. The angry guest mumbled "How difficult can it be?" The customer turned back to the desk, and grabbed the original printed account paper. He squeezed it into a twisted tie, and threw it on a trash bin.

Finally, he left after receiving his credit card slip. The guest hurriedly pushed open the glass pane wooden doors practically hitting an arriving golf-clad elderly couple without apologizing. The black stretched Cadillac Escalade motor was running.

The exasperated guest sank into the backseat, and began barking orders to hurry to the airport. The limousine exited rounding the wood and stone porte-cochere archway. The vehicle headed on Wisconsin Avenue going south to Kalispell's airport.

"Another satisfied guest?" joked Parker arriving to the Manager.

"What?" the fired-up female Manager said before looking up at Parker.

She pleaded, "Oh. I'm sorry you had to hear that Mr. Woods." She knew Parker Woods. He was the Lodge's only permanent guest.

"Hope this hasn't ruined your afternoon?" She dreaded to have another guest complaint today especially from Parker Woods. The Lodge's managerial meetings occasional discussed Mr. Woods 'comings-and-goings' at the lakefront resort.

However all staff gossip stopped when seeing the twenty-eight-year-old in the flesh at six feet and two inches. His faintly tanned white skin was ascended by his black curled trimmed hair and those deep blue eyes. The Hugo Boss black-knitted short sleeve shirt clung to his athletic frame.

The Manager regained her senses as the senior couple made their way to the Front Desk with golf bags in tow. Now realizing her gaze had lingered at Parker. She motioned for him to follow her to the opposite end by using his surname, "Mr. Woods". The clerk greeted the entering guest as she moved out of the agent's window, "Welcome to Whitefish Lodge."

Upon reaching the end of the counter, she profusely apologized, "Sorry about Mr. Levi. He was quite adamant about never having touched the mini-bar."

Then she leaned towards Parker, and said in a low-toned voice, "However between you and me. I had to write-off over six hundred dollars just because he owns a national furniture chain. He is planning to build a store here in Kalispell. Surely someone staying in the Ponderosa Suite could afford using the mini-bar? That is why the refrigerators are weight-sensitive."

"I've had my fare share of Mr. Levi and his entourage all week," said Parker; then he asked, "And all that commotion for just six hundred dollars?"

"Yup," she said.

She remembered accounting department informing her that Mr. Woods balance always reflected a credit balance. The funds were deposited on aimless dates. Obviously, the Lodge was grateful for having such a loyal customer.

Moreover, his wealth intrigued by the staff. Was his money coming from Wall Street investments, gambling profits or modeling assignments?

The current rumor was Mr. Woods as a high-priced gigolo. He definitely had the body, features, charm and clothing. Let alone his newly acquired gifts. His left wrist wore a Rolex Submariner watch worth over three thousand dollars. Or was he just simply a guy born into an inheritance?

"Well then it seems you have everything under control. I must be heading to the gym," Parker said anxiously retreating from the front desk counter. The Manager was accustomed to Parker's occasional aloof behavior. Today was the most conversation she had with Parker in awhile.

Parker noticed the Manager returning to her back office. He turned back towards the Front Desk. Parker eyed Mr. Levi's wrenched statement on the top of the trash canister.

While the desk clerk was finishing-up the couple's hotel registration with chatter about the local golf courses, Parker retrieved the discarded paper.

_BINGO_.

Mr. Levi had left behind some clues to work with. His hotel statement had printed his mailing address and listed out-going phone numbers. The billing also announced "On Your Visa" showing his last four digit number. Now, that would be trickier for him, but not impossible.

Parker was prepared for his task. His mind flowed with many thoughts. It was time to play Karma on Mr. Levi's intolerable behavior.

Parker departed out of the pine-knotted Lobby through the Grand Foyer. He passed the Shoreline restaurant to reach a pair of French doors on the side entrance. Once outside, Parker came upon the afternoon sunlit redwood pool deck with its orderly placement of lounge chairs. He opened the side wrought iron gate, and continued down a pathway bordered by native floral and bushes.

Upon reaching the lively boat marina, Parker headed right on the lakeshore walkway with the property's three-storey East Wing facing him. The Main Lodge would be far behind him.

Mr. Woods leased this customized residence on the hotel grounds amongst dense forest away from the guests. The estate was obstructed by fragrant towering Douglas-fir pine trees. It was secured by a six-foot tall dark-stained wood fence surrounding the property. To an onlooker, it would appear to be an abandoned groundskeeper's cottage.

Parker came to a St Francis statue placed a triangularwood box. He reached-up and pulled-down the saintly figurine triggering the wooden lock-gate to swing open. Once he passed through and closed the gate, the statuette reverted to its upright position.

He walked down the pine needle covered stone trail to the single storey timber-framed home. He climbed up two steps to the front entrance. The garage adjoined the home to his right side.

He pulled out from his black denim front pocket an unmarked Lodge key card, and inserted into the door. As he entered granite-laid entry; he locked the dead bolt. Parker walked through the living room, and rounded to the kitchen with its marble countertop and two swivel bar chairs.

Parker advanced towards the large pantry. One inside, he moved near the wine rack wall. He reached up to his right, and pulled the wine wall to himself. It revealed a polished metal door similar to a bank vault.

Parker then fingered his six-digit password on the numeric pad. The door pulled open making a hissing-sound. This always reminded Parker of the sealed isolation before him. The florescent lights glowed inside this solid four inch thick fire-proof office. It was completely darkened from exterior light.

After closing the door, the only trace of any personal affect was his FBI embroidered baseball cap hooked on the wall. A credit union calendar hung above his desk. The current page had this upcoming Tuesday marked in red-ink showing a trip to Las Vegas. It was in three days.

The officecontained three computer stations positioned in an L-shape design. On his immediate left were two computer screens displaying twenty websites per minute. To protect Parker from an epileptic seizure, the constant flickering was shielded by a commercialized grey-tinted film. A desktop printer was wedged between these two computer stations.

This area produced printouts of _bait-targets_ from the scanned websites. It was this computer program that made Parker Woods his earnings.

The third computer fronting him was for his private use. He pulled the chair out, and sat down. While pushing back into his desk, he typed his password bringing the screen up. He entered "Levi furniture" on Google search engine. Parker glanced at the muted television seated to his left. The cable twenty-four hour news broadcast was airing.

Parker had clicked-on the website for Levi's furniture chain to upload. He studied the newscast ticker-tape headlines running on the bottom of the television.

After minutes of skimming the news reports, Parker continued typing on the keyboard. His computer showed the time to be 12:07PM_._ Parker thought to himself, "_What a way to spend a Sunday afternoon._"

**CHAPTER TWO**

_**DISASTER IN KAPAA**_

Four hours behind Montana's Mountain Time zone on the scenic Hawaiian Island of Kauai, a honeymooning early twenties Groom awoke. He blinked his eyes to readjust his vision from his Mai Tai hangover. He lookedupwards noticing the hotel's in-room sprinkler head and ceiling fan turning at a whisper-speed.

Next he rolled his head towards the early morning sun. He saw his wife writing postcards from their third floor room balcony overlooking the coastline of Kapaa. She was sipping Lyon's Kona coffee from her free Hilo Hattie's mug.

The Pacific Ocean waves were soothing. The surf gingerly splashed the volcanic sandy beach this on Sunday morning. There were no trade wind breezes rustling the soaring palm trees.

The Groom felt his drunken headache from the Luau. Those Mai Tai's had tasted so good and he was feeling no pain then. Today was another story.

His tongue felt cotton-dry. His teeth seemed to be affixed with glued. He slowly rose from the queen bed, and planted his feet on the cool floor tiles. He paused a moment. Then he heard his wife's voice, "Good morning sunshine. It's time to get a move on."

He needed to pee badly. He finally stood up. He wore only his white square-cut Calvin Klein briefs. He made passed the mini-kitchen to reach the room's entrance corridor where the bathroom was located. His Bride sipping her freshly brewed coffee turned inwards to see an emptied bed. The bathroom light illuminated the doorway.

She returned to her quiet thoughts of finishing her postcards. After flushing the toilet, the Groom swayed back into the room's kitchen. He found a half emptied bottle of water by the coffeemaker. By guzzling the bottle, he tried to regain his mouth's moisture.

The Groom rested his left hip against the kitchen counter top. He noticed the microwave time was 8:13AM. He had wished for more sleep. He knew they had arranged a helicopter island tour with a nine o'clock pickup. Now he thought it foolish, however he did not want to disappoint his Bride.

He opened the cabinet refrigerator to find an ice-cold bottle of water. Upon taking a big swig, he experienced a brain freeze. His head shuddered. He turned around leaning against the countertop looking at the rising sunlight from the East.

The Bride sat Indian-style on the rattan chair wearing her new Oriental robe. It had been purchased days prior at the neighboring Marketplace outdoor mall. The retailers had an array of shops, and included a twenty-four hour ABC convenient store.

The mall fronted the Quest Resort hotel complex. The resort consisted of eight individual solid block buildings. The property was landscaped with lofty palm trees and gas-piped Tiki-torches.

At this early hour only a few tourist were hunting the restaurant scene in search of a hardy breakfast. He again heard her speak as she turned facing the room, "I was thinking that after I finish-up here…" He smiled to himself as she spoke.

He loved her so. She had organized the activities of the day. He pushed-off the kitchen moving towards the balcony with the chilled bottle in hand. He was passing the Hawaiian patterned bedcover that was crumbled in front of the bed.

Her voice continued, "After the tour, we could grab lunch at…"

Suddenly he lost his balance, and tumbled onto the mattress. He cursed while spilling the iced water on himself. There was a thunderous erupting sound like a train beneath them. Then it happened.

The wooden balcony frame began to snap like toothpicks tilting away from the room. It started plunging towards to grass below. The Groom looked in horror as his Bride desperately tried to hold onto anything stable.

Postcards flew off the balcony. The coffee mug toppled over the table and shattered. Her frighten face looked through the sliding doors to see her husband on the mattress.

Suddenly the front door burst opened exposing fire-flaming palm trees wavering against the exterior guardrail. The in-room sprinkler head buckled from its mounting. The water line sprayed erratically. The Groom was showered by the water as he lay on the soaked bed. It felt like being on a rollercoaster ride in the midst of the Ocean.

Within seconds the sliding glass door cracked outwardly. It dropped shards onto her weak fingers. This caused her to release her grip of the door frame.

It was too late. The balcony gave way. Her Chinese red robe bellowed upwardly like a parachute during her screaming descent. The shriek abruptly stopped.

For a moment, he saw a singular postcard briefly land on the tiled floor before it was vacuumed back outside as the balcony rooftop passed the room's threshold.

He thought…it's a dream…a horrible nightmare…I must wake-up.

Reality set in as the framed Hawaiian tribal painting above the bed crashed on top of the pillows. The ceiling fan swung from its base missing his head. He thought "My god." The entire room was in an uncontrollable turbulent motion. He pushed his drunken upper body from the soiled mattress linen. He then felt weightlessness for a millisecond.

That is when the floor buckled from its block walls. The sensation was like an elevator in a free-fall. The sounds of twisting metal, crumbling concrete and human shrills were heard. The Groom's water-drenched body slammed on the soaked mattress.

The drop had stopped. He looked upwardly in puzzlement. The Groom saw that their third floor room had collapsed each level to reach its resting place on the bottom floor.

This newly-formed sink-hole swallowed anything from upper floors. Chairs, nightstands, lamps and kitchen appliances all landed at close range to the Groom. The pain was agonizing as fragments of glass, tile and plaster barraged him.

The wooden support beams holding the shingle roof began to abandon. One-by-one the bracings fell pinning on top of the Groom. The rooftop had exposed a clear sky above him as squawking birds flew franticly overhead.

The coughing was unbearable as blood flooded his mouth. Seconds later his heart stopped. His wide-eyes remained glazed to the sky. Dust swirls covered his dead body. Ten feet away, his wife's crumpled body had landed on the remains of the balcony structure. It resembled scaffolding overturned.

The thundery noises stopped. The palm-dotted beach with its black-tar pathway looked like a fallen domino set. The gas pipelines for the Tiki torches had exploded blazing the palm trees.

Some coughing sounds were detected from inside various buildings. Moans and pleas of help resonated throughout the resort's property. Soon all would be silenced.

A disastrous second phase would perish the majority of these survivors. The waves started to withdraw from the lava rock beach. A siren was heard in the distance. The sound whaled to alert the people of the Island that a tsunami was forthcoming.

To the Natives, the God of the Earth had shaken their island in a fury. Now his rival, the God of Sea, was nearing with a great wall of water to blanket the destruction.

**CHAPTER THREE**

_**THE MOB'S INVESTMENT **_

A hip hop rapper tune aroused the iPhone alerting Junior to read the ABC news instant message. Junior touched the phone screen, and watched video podcast from the network's Los Angeles studio.

The news anchor spoke the following, "The Hawaiian Island of Kauai was hit earlier this morning with an earthquake of 8.8 magnitude at 8:14 Hawaii-Aleutian Time and was followed by a level-four tsunami…Early reports indicated the center of the quake nearby the tourist city of Kapaa…Fearing a high-amount of casualties…the US Navy has began flying in troops from Pearl Harbor Naval Base…more to be reported at ."

Junior had a smirk formed across his cherry-brown lips. His plan was in place. It needed a tragedy to take seed.

He looked at Lake Michigan's sereneness on this Chicago afternoon. He crossed Lakeshore Drive, and headed back into Chicago's affluent downtown high-rise neighborhood. He finally reached his destination.

He looked up some fifty-plus floors. The gleaming white circular skyscraper towered over his bald-shaved black head. The clouds floated past the tower. The Platinum Tower was the address of his current employer.

He still felt the stares from the reception security guard. Junior swiped his residence badge through the card reader in the grey-marble elevator lobby. It was security policy to swipe the tenants' cards prior to pressing the elevator call button. Nonetheless Junior could not help, but think his every move was being watched. And it was.

He waited to board the bronze-plated elevator as a silver-haired elderly couple walked off holding their diamond-collared Yorkshire terrier. Junior held the elevator doors open while they passed by. His meek attempt at saying "good afternoon" was given a snobbish deaf-response.

As he boarded the elevator, Junior pondered at to why the dog and its owners had the same hair color. He was amused. He then pushed in-and-out his residential key card into a slot above the car's buttons, and pressed level fifty-two.

It was not the _penthouse_. It was off by two floors. In high-rise living, it would be a mini-penthouse with four bedrooms and five bathrooms at three-five hundred square feet of living space. It appraised at over eight million dollars. Junior's key card allowed him private access to this level. The fifty-second floor had two occupants and one of them was his boss, Giovanni Falconi.

The polished elevator doors opened as Junior exited one of two cars that could reach this level. The windowless elevator lobby was lit by a set of canvas box-lights. The wood floor shined under the subdued lighting.

A set of four pictures in double-sized white frames hung above the console table. Twin wicker-box chairs with black leather cushions bookended each side of the table across from the elevator bank.

Junior walked to his left. He wondered why this overpriced tower had lobby lighting made of ordinary canvas and not of sparkling crystals. This reinforced in his mind how gullible his employer really was.

Regardless, this hallway was larger than his former dormitory. Junior reached the dual two-inch thick mahogany doors. He grabbed his key from inside his hooded sweater front pocket.

While inserting his key, Junior shook his head as he looked at the call plate. It had a buzzer and speaker box for guests. It was so commonly used by delivery and take-out couriers. It was smudged from white to grey.

Junior turned his key and unbolted the dead lock. His actions had been taped from four concealed surveillance cameras hidden beneath the canvas lighting. The newest feature of audio had been recently installed by the Security team.

The green marble foyer reached six feet until touching the oak plank floor that showcased its owner's contemporary furniture. A foursome of metal framed white leather chairs surrounded a glass coffee table. Beyond the living area was the formal dining.

It had a hundred and eighty degree panorama of Chicago's skyline and Lake Michigan's southern exposure. The fourteen foot floor-to-ceiling windows showed amazing views from fifty-second floor. The window vistas were slanted inward three-inches from floor-to-ceiling to create the building's cone-shape roofline effect.

Junior stopped by the dining room table, with its twelve fabric-woven high-back chairs, to catch the midday sun. A glow was beaming atop the neighboring pyramid-shaped building that housed a major financial institution.

He thought for a moment to himself, "_Life is good on the top."_ Then he remembered his iPhone media alert and continued.

Junior walked through the ultra-modern kitchen that rarely cooked a meal. The chrome sub-zero refrigerator, coffeemaker, cappuccino machine, high-speed juicier and microwave displayed signs of continual usage.

He entered a corridor heading around the elevator lobby's backside, which broke-off into individual rooms. He strolled past the walk-in pantry, laundry room, entertainment room, and in-home gym. The last room designed as the maid's quarters was now Junior's private bedroom.

This address was the upgrade he hungered. He retrieved his single key and unlocked the door. His oasis was darkened by curtains that made the framed windows look like shadow boxes.

A desk was placed in the corner. The bedroom had been furnished with a queen size bed, and reading chair with side table. There were no sports team's memorabilia or bikini-clad girl posters on the walls.

Junior's room was plain by comparison to the rest of the residence. Hanging above the bed was a fishing village oil painting which looked like Greece to Junior. A fern rested on top a faux marble-painted Roman column. The single nightstand was loaded with technical books. The book inventory revealed a yellow "USED" sticker from the Midtown University Bookstore on the bindings.

Junior sat at the computer desk. He opened the side cabinet. He pulled out a three-ring binder label "Katrina". He opened the binder. Inside were articles regarding fraudulent websites profiting from charitable donations. Junior thought to himself, "_It wasn't_ _his original idea, but it was brilliant_."

A _Time_ article mentioned that the first seventy-two hours produced almost two million dollars on these illicit websites. It claimed that the FBI was following-up to prosecute these new online criminals..._blah, blah, blah_.

Junior had done his homework. While back on campus, he did a research paper on the FBI's Cyber Task Center. He got a private interview with the Deputy Director whom attended the Cyber Detection Conference in the Windy City four months prior. The two day event tested leery-eyed hackers to infuriate the restricted government mainframes.

The Conference was an opportunity for hackers to flaunt their talents without imprisonment. Authorities from the FBI, CIA and the Pentagon revered this seminar to increase their threat against possible terrorist. Outside the CTC's government-funded event was the upcoming iGONE Industries sponsored hackie conference in Las Vegas.

It was this essay, which got Junior into his new surroundings. The boss had learned of Junior's report through one of Giovanni's associates. This party recognized Junior's earnings potential a month ago.

Junior moved the mouse on pad to bring the computer screen to life from its energy-saving mode. Why was his employer worried about the electrical bill Junior questioned himself? Giovanni would gulp a Napa Valley Opus One bottle costing more than five hundred dollars weekly.

The penthouse was illuminated from minimal-to-dim at best. A cluster of motion sensornight-lights ran amid the residence. His lanky body was invariably fighting a cold, since the indoor thermostat was locked at sixty-six degrees. It was ironic living with a frugal criminal.

Junior found the CD disc in the binder, and inserted it into his computer. The CD activated a "Webpage Hosting" program. His screen read 2:32PM. The program revealed a bogus Hurricane Katrina donation webpage. This disc was wanted by the Feds. Giovanni instructed Junior to reformat this highly-profitable website when he believed it necessary.

He minimized the webpage to be downloaded and Googled "Kapaa Earthquake." It would be on these news stories and personal blogs that Junior would "re-edit" his Webpage from "Katrina" to "Aloha Relief Fund". He spliced the text paraphrasing the headlines.

He added his additional appeals from now-orphaned children and stranded elderly tourist. He copied image files from Indonesia's tsunami homeless children to react the part of Kauai's children. A sunken cruise ship in the Mediterranean would play the role of the wayward seniors.

Junior had the artistic imagination for the website. It looked genuine. The page included the Red Cross emblem on the bottom left side. After hours of brushing-up the site; Junior called his Boss for approval.

Giovanni's vibrating cellphone disrupted his afternoon massage. Only a handful knew his private number. It had to important to disturb him on Sunday. Giovanni's six-days-a-week oil-glistening gym body rolled over from the massage table. He stared at the early twenties red-headed Croatian female masseur.

He said, "Would you mind?" directing her to give him the cellphone resting on the nightstand. Giovanni thought "_this better be good,_" while eyeing his talented masseur grab the phone.

She wore her white laced bra and matching panties. Giovanni chuckled to himself at her model-like poses that she displayed while doing the simplest of task. Her black leather mini-skirt and blue sink blouse had been tossed on the bedcover next to her prized purse.

"Yes?" Giovanni answered Junior on the fifth ring.

"We got it," spoke the excited kid.

"We?" questioned Giovanni.

In Giovanni's World, there was no saying _WE_.

"Yes, sir," Junior continued, "There's been a horrible earthquake on the island of Kauai, one of the Hawaiian islands, of a magnitude of eight point something…it has broken almost all communication ties…"

"Almost or has?" Giovanni quizzed the college kid.

"Well, I mean…there are some video feeds coming from the Island through cellphones and some computers were unharmed."

Junior was getting tired of this constant 'cat-and-mouse' verbiage game. What Giovanni learned from his late father was "_give me the facts, son." _No skirting an issue. Time was valuable. He had a limited amount of it when working a scam.

"I took the liberty of downloading the "Katrina" disc, and with some minor adjustments. We got ourselves an 'Aloha Relief Fund' ready for profit." Finally stating the facts Junior waited for a respond, which felt like minutes.

Giovanni's bleached white teeth smiled, "Give me a moment, son." He rose to sit on the side of the table revealing his moistened chest hair over his muscle frame. He stretched his shoulder blades backwards, then forward flexing his pectorals. His physiquewas tanned to perfection. His muscles would rival any bodybuilder.

He snapped his fingers instructing his masseur to fetch his burgundy sink robe. It had been pitched to the floor earlier. He trailed her movements like a hawk. He was suspicious of anyone living or invited to his secure household.

Giovanni eased off the table. His waist towel fell exposing his proud Italian-American manhood to his flirtatious masseur. She had fondled him before. That is how the job ended. It made Giovanni content and his masseur able to purchase weeks worth of groceries. The masseur tugged the robe onto his twenty-two inch biceps.

"Junior, I'll be there after a shower," Giovanni said while letting the robe hang off his massive shoulders. He had not bothered to fasten the garment.

"Um, sir," He feared giving Giovanni an order, but continued, "We should to act soon. The website needs to be up-and-running after the ten o'clock news." Junior knew timing was crucial.

"You did hire me to assist you," Junior boldly said.

The kid was right, "I'll be there in twenty."

_Cash was_ _King_ in Giovanni's world.

Giovanni would have to forgo his traditional pleasant ending until next Sunday. His stared down upon the puppy-eyed masseur and stated, "Get your things ready. I've got business to attend to." He brushed her hand away from his opened robe and walked to the nightstand.

While fasting his robe, he pull-opened the top drawer to obtain an envelope. It contained her profits for the day. Giovanni riffled through the three one hundred dollar bills, and pulled two of them out. He stuffed the two bills into his side pocket shortening her funds.

"Here," he said handing her the thin envelope. She grabbed her counterfeited Louis Vuitton handbag from the wood floor. She shoved the envelope into her pursue. He began to anxiously pace around California king-size bed waiting for her to redress.

Ultimately he escorted her from the Master Suite to the foyer, while she casually buttoned her blouse. She barely had enough time to cover herself before being whisked out the door. Then she heard the click of the dead bolt behind her.

She sauntered to the elevator bank, and pressed the call button. The she mirrored herself in the polished elevator doors. Then Giovanni's private security heard her heavily Eastern bloc accented voice say, "What a baboon."

Her comment was transmitted from the fake fire detector in the ceiling to the Security center. This would end her lucrative profession. The guard on-duty nodded in disapproval.

The guard would email the audio report to his supervisor from the Security center concealed above the notorious Jungle bathhouse.

**CHAPTER FOUR**

"**Bonjour Monsieur"**

Montreal's historic waterfront housed a bustling commerce. The cobblestone avenue was aligned with Parisian cafes, pastry shoppes, antique galleries and boutique hotels. The downtown center sloped to the St Lawrence River forming the old wharf known as Vieux-Port.

This was Montreal's entertainment district and home to the celebrated Cirque Du Soleil performance troupe. Cirque's enormous circus tent was striped in blue and gold.

This highly praised afternoon performance was nearing its conclusion. Unexpectedly the venue went dark. The orchestra's music shrieked. The acrobatic performers froze on stage. The Circus Tent fell silent.

A single spotlight followed the Lead Clown towards the center stage passing the performers. The Clown removed his hat, while the audience noticed a microphone being lowered from the rafters. The audience began to clap and whistle expecting a comedic routine.

However this time it did not smack the Clown's forehead. The public speaker announced in a strong calming-tone, "Mesdames et Messieurs."

"Ladies and Gentlemen, may we have your attention."

The Clown's expression was of confused remorse. There were hushing sounds heard throughout the audience. The Clown gazed into the crowd. He spoke in low trembling voice until someone yelled, "Louder."

He brought the microphone closer to his mouth. He uttered in his French-Canadian accent, "I regret to inform you that an earthquake shook the Hawaiian Island of Kauai this afternoon…followed by a tidal wave. We have learned that the death-toll will be in the hundreds, if not the thousands. We ask each of you to give a silent prayer for those of this tragedy."

The Clown lowered his head to his chest. The cast members silently drifted behind the Clown in support.

Kyle seated on the aisle of the third row glanced inwards to his companion's side. In the dimness, he noticed Vicky Lee had a teardrop streaming down her high chin-bone. She tired desperately to swallow back her emotions.

Vicky was the strength of this couple. She wiped away the tear. She began to breathe deeply through her nostrils renewing her composure.

"Let's go," she suggested while clutching his forearm.

"Soon," Kyle whispered as he patted her hand. He wanted to wait until the lights were back on. His eyeglass vision was bad enough in the dark. Besides, he did not want to be pegged as the rude American in Quebec.

Kyle hated conflict in person, but was a bulldog protecting his clients' interest. His corporate homepage displayed an animated guard dog bearing its teeth. The guard dog character had an audio-bite of a 'dog's growl' when a cursor swiped over the image. It was a successful ploy, which definitely got future business.

"_Simple, but affective_" was Vicky's sentiment in Kyle's memory. He had the computer technical knowledge, and she designed the marketing plan. Together they had built iGONE Industries. Within days, iGONE's national symposium would take place. Their trip to Montreal was a retreat before the conference.

The house lights awoke the crowd. The stillness passed. The audience heard the public announcer in French, and then declared in English that the matinee's performance had concluded.

The Lead Clown and cast members walked off stage as the orchestra began to play. There would be no applause today. The house lighting was lit, while the stage dimmed to pitch-black.

"Here," said Kyle helping Vicky stand. He indicated with his hand a nearby exit. A band of ushers had secured the exits. The couple walked towards them.

Vicky asked, "We need a taxi, quickly".

"Oui,Mademoiselle," replied a young female usher wearing red jacket uniform. The usher had noticed their pinned VIP badges. The usher opened the exit to lead them through a passageway. The three of them came upon the red-canvas VIP tent.

The red tent hosted the pre-show champagne and hors d'oeuvre reception that they had attended hours earlier. Vicky fished through her Fendi purse to find her Dior sunglasses. Vicky placed the sunglasses on her face before they exited the reception tent.

The late-day sun peaked through the clouds above Montreal's Old Port. The usher guided them around the maze of steel barricades to the front of the cab line. As Kyle entered the parked cab, he tipped the usher handsomely for her efficient service.

He then noticed the crowd exiting the Circus tent in a state of sorrow. Kyle instructed the cab driver to take them to the Royal V Hotel.

The taxicab headed uphill, and passed the city's famed Notre-Dame Basilica. Kyle marveled at the church's architecture. He thought of how many _more_ funerals would there be. His Mother would comment about his frankness by saying, "_What a horrible thought."_

He reflected on his college mentor telling Kyle that his honesty was a double-sword. He remembered being told it was both an asset and liability.

"We're almost there," Vicky mentioned to Kyle when taxi cornered Rue Peel in the heart of downtown.

The taxi slowed to a stop inside the circular marble portico of the Royal V Hotel. The crystal lights sparkled on the cab's roofline. The charming Quebec-born Doorman opened the back door of the taxi. The Doorman greeted his week-long guest, "Bonjour Monsieur Stuart. How was the performance?"

While paying the cabbie, Kyle spoke without thinking, "It could have ended better." The Doorman frowned.

"They told us about the earthquake in Hawaii," Vicky interjected covering Kyle's straightforwardness.

"Oui, we have been monitoring the events this afternoon," the Doorman continued, "If you need to change any arranges. I know the concierge will be able to assist you." The hotel staff had various inquiries since the tragedy.

"Thank you, but we're scheduled to depart tomorrow," Kyle said.

Kyle climbed the red carpeted three-step entrance reaching the glass revolving doors. Vicky pushed the doors inward to reveal the white marble gold-trimmed Grand Lobby.

The Lobby had a hand-painted European ceiling. Hung above the scarlet-velvet covered oval couches were five decorative crystal chandeliers. The Royal V Hotel had been thoroughly restored to its1950's elegance which included a wall unit postal box.

The couple passed through the posh Lobby with staff acknowledging smiles. They reached the elevator bank, where the elevator attendant waited for his arriving passengers.

The attendant greeted the couple inside the elevator. He then turned the brass key clockwise followed by pushing the button labeled Penthouse. The threesome rode-up in silence until the attendant spoke, "What a tragedy."

"Yes. It is," replied Vicky removing her sunglasses.

The elevator reached its floor. The attendant held the doors open as Vicky exited first.

He then turned to speak to Kyle, **"**Monsieur Stewart. I will be downstairs if you need anything."

"Merci," said Kyle as he exited.

Vicky entered the Mont-Royal Suite, and attended to her makeup in the powder room off the main foyer. Kyle followed her into the suite; he then walked down a couple of steps into the formal living room.

He could smell the fragrance of the freshly-cut flowers sitting on the coffee table. A matching bouquet was located on dining room table. Kyle strolled through both areas before reaching the Master Bedroom.

Inside the Master Suite, Kyle noticed the third miniature floral arrangement on the Vicky's nightstand side of the bed. Kyle smiled with appreciation of the fine touches to details. He opened the walk-in closet double doors to find a safe on the lower corner.

Kyle crouched down, and touched-screen his numeric code to unlock the strongbox. Opening the safe, Kyle obtained his computer laptop in an aluminum attaché case. He carried the briefcase into the dining room which could easily dine eight.

Vicky exited the powder room when Kyle mentioned, "Vic…would you like to do some shopping? I can arrange a personal shopper to meet you. It is our last day here."

"You need some alone time?" Vicky asked knowing that Kyle was ready to work again. In their business, when the computers stopped Kyle was at his busiest. He could detach himself from the world.

"Would you mind?" Kyle said removing his laptop from its casing, and placed it on the dining room table.

"I think I can manage," Vicky somberly stated.

"Let me call the concierge for you," Kyle stood, and walked to the fully-stocked bar. He picked-up the white princess telephone resting atop the black marbled bar. Vicky stepped into the bedroom as he dialed.

Thirty minutes later, Vicky was driven down Rue Ste-Catherines en route to Redmond's fashion store; where a personal shopper awaited her arrival at the side entrance.

By then, Kyle had his computer up-and-running while he phoned his top-dog computer hacker, Parker Woods. Kyle wanted Parker posed for the attack.


End file.
